


Guardian Angel

by fabricdragon



Series: The Book of John [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Suicide, John has a danger fetish, M/M, May be continued, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Plotbunnies, Sherlock is an ass, Suicide Attempt, and an Idiot, seriously this is not what i started writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-18 21:36:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9403829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabricdragon/pseuds/fabricdragon
Summary: John  attempted suicide several times after Sherlock's death, but something always saved him.  He was finally moving on when Sherlock came back, in the worst way possible.so who is John's guardian angel?





	1. Chapter 1

Sherlock had come back from the dead, after John had mourned, after he’d tried to move on, after he’d found someone who didn’t remind him at all of Sherlock–or only in her eyes, and the way she held herself, and the subtle hint that more was going on that she might tell you.

John had Sherlock on the floor, hurting, and furious– was this trick, a fraud? Didn’t he KNOW? Didn’t he realize John had almost died?  That a part of him was still dead inside, convinced this was a trick?

It was the flinch, and the indrawn breath that snapped him out of it.

“Sherlock? You’re real? You’re alive? What?” John sat back shaking.

Sherlock, voice rough, said, “In hindsight that may not have been the best idea…”

“No Fucking KIDDING!” John shouted. “You were DEAD! I almost…” He got up and walked away, barely able to see.

He collapsed halfway back home. Mary found him and called an ambulance. He woke up in the hospital and almost instantly signed himself out against medical advice.  He called Mycroft.

“You knew.”

“Of course I did, John, it was for your own–“

“I tried to kill myself three times, Mycroft, it wasn’t for my own anything.” He hung up.

He walked to Reichenbach and went up to the roof– he knew his way there by now so well he could have done it blindfolded.  He sat there, drinking a lemonade that he’d gotten from the  hospital vending machine, watching the pigeons.

“Hello, John.” Sherlock’s voice, not too close behind him.

“I always used to hear you when I sat up here, you know? I spent hours shouting at you, begging you, trying to understand…”

“I- I was trying to keep you safe.”

“No you weren’t.  Faking your death was keeping me safe, letting me believe you were dead for two years?  That’s torture,” John said calmly. “If you can’t be honest, there’s no point.”

“There were people who would have killed you!”

“I almost killed myself, except that I suspect your brother kept stopping me.”

“What?”

“I was going to throw myself off this roof, the first time.  I woke up passed out in a corner, over there, and it was daylight by then.  I thought I had just been too drunk.  I took pills the second time, back at the flat before I moved out, and woke up in bed feeling like I’d had my stomach pumped.  God alone knows what happened the third time, the entire day is hazy.”

“But… but why? Why would you…? I don’t understand…?”

John turned to look at him. “You were my whole life, Sherlock. And now I know that you didn’t even care enough to have Mycroft or someone tell me ‘He’s not dead, you can go on living.’”

“I was… I was trying to keep you safe…”

“From what? What did I have left?  Until Mary showed up, tell me what I had left?”

“You’re wonderful, and kind, and you fix things, and you always know what to do…” Sherlock was wringing his hands.

“I couldn’t fix you being dead, and I had no idea what to do.”  John stood up. “I need to think about things, Sherlock.  But let me tell you something: YOU need to figure out what you thought was going to happen, when you let me think you were dead all this time.”

John walked away.

He ended up wandering, sort of randomly, finding himself at an alley where he’d been with Sherlock on a case, passing a building where they’d been shot at… he finally collapsed on a park bench.  Mary turned up with sandwiches after a bit.

“John?  Thank heavens I found you!  I brought…”

He looked up and looked at her, really looked at her for the first time. “Who are you?”

“John? Its Mary, are you alright?” she stared down at him worriedly.

“Oh,” he smiled sadly, “I see. You work for Mycroft, don’t you?”

“What?” she looked at him with an innocent look, and tried to hand him sandwiches again.

He shrugged. “You have your car, I assume.”

She looked confused but drove him home.  He thanked her and said he would see her later.  He went into his flat, and looked tiredly around the place.  He got into the cabinet and found that his pills were missing. _Figures. Mycroft must have taken them._   He eventually fell asleep on the sofa.

He woke up because Sherlock was shaking him, and, for just a moment– a brief, beautiful moment– he thought the last two years had been a nightmare.

“Sherlock?”

“John? John?  You wouldn’t answer…”

His awareness crashed back to the present. “Oh.”

“Mycroft swears he didn’t know about the attempts, John. If he’d known and he hadn’t told me I would kill him.  I honestly thought you were safer not knowing!”

“If you honestly think it’s better to grieve you for two years, than to take a chance that I might get shot by someone because I didn’t look depressed enough one day? You have a very warped idea of safe.” John sighed, “Besides which, since when was I ever interested in safe?”

“It was the only logical–“

“People are not logical Sherlock.  If you haven’t figured that out by now, I can’t help you.”  John shook his head. “I need time to think, please let me have at least a day or two.”

Sherlock nodded slowly and went out.

John sat down staring at the shadows on the wall… Eventually he realized what Sherlock had said and he nodded slowly.

“Well, no pills. I suppose I can make another try off the roof.” And he walked out. He went to Reichenbach, taking his time, picked the locks like they were old friends, and went up to the roof. He walked around until he found a spot he liked and just before he got to the edge he felt an impact in his back. He went down.


	2. Chapter 2

He lay quietly, breathing deeply, keeping his eyes closed.  He heard the tranquilizer dart fall off his back. He heard two pair of footsteps, and a muffled sigh, as a man started to pick him up.

He opened his eyes to see a military man, large and fit, and next to him, unmistakably, Jim Moriarty.

“I just have to wonder why you bothered, given how hard you tried to kill me?” John thought he should be shrieking, but he didn’t have the energy left.

The man picking him up immediately grabbed for his wrists, John didn’t try to stop him. Jim stared at him  with his mouth open for a moment before he started to giggle.

“Oh… Oh my, you faked this one?”

“Kevlar vest,” John nodded. “My flat is bugged?”

“Obviously.”  Jim smiled a bit and sat down next to him. He waved at the big man, “Let him go, Sebie.”

“So you know Sherlock is alive? How long have you known?”

“Since not long after this,” he said, waving around the roof. “I was impressed.”

“I didn’t know, not until today– or yesterday, now.”

“Yes, I found that out.”

“So why? Why bother?”

“Well at first, Johnny boy, it was just because I wanted to keep you around as a leash, for when Sherlock finally came back.”

John nodded slowly. “After that?”

“I began to wonder if he was going to come back. It seemed unlikely, the longer they didn’t tell you.” Jim put a hand out and touched John’s face. “And you sort of grew on me.”

John laughed, “Me? I thought you told me once I was just ordinary, boring… not worth anyone’s time.”

“Oh I stopped thinking that ages ago. It was just the sweaters.”

“What?”

“The sweaters. They do a wonderful job of camouflaging the John who jumps on  killers at the pol, and shoots cabbies.  You do look all sorts of fuzzy and domestic in them.”

John snorted. “Well if I wasn’t at least slightly domestic, Sherlock would have starved to death.” He looked down with a sigh. “At least I thought so. He’s apparently been alright.”

“No, actually– idiot got himself captured and tortured. Took me forever to get word to his brother about where he was, and even longer for Mikey to get him out.”

“What?!”

Jim nodded. “Really, it’s amazing the amount of trouble he gets into without you.  Mind you, it’s amazing the amount of trouble he gets in with you, so I suppose it evens out.”

John puffed air out, thinking. “So Mary?”

“Works for me, not Mikey. She needed a place to hide out, and I told her to look after you. I do think she likes you.  What gave it away?” he said cocking his head.

“She could always find me, even when I didn’t know where I was myself. I assumed it was Mycroft and the cameras.”

Jim stood up, and held out a hand. “So now that Sherlock’s back, are you two going to patch it up?”

John took the hand and stood up; he thought Jim looked a bit surprised.

“I have no idea.  Sherlock doesn’t even seem to understand what’s wrong.”

“Well, he’s brilliant, but emotions aren’t his thing.”

John stuffed his hands in his pockets and tried to think. Jim walked up and pulled his hands out. “You always do that, Johnny boy, you need to stop: you look like a turtle.”

John blinked and realized the man who had haunted so many of his nightmares, back when Sherlock was alive, and after for a time, was standing right there, holding both of his hands.  He leaned forward and kissed him gently. “Thanks for saving my life, for whatever reason.”  He started to pull his hands away.

Jim didn’t let go of him. “Oh no you don’t, you can’t do that!” Jim glared at him. John suddenly realized they were much the same height: he’d gotten so used to Sherlock being taller than he was, he had mentally made Jim taller too.

“I’m- I’m sorry?  It just seemed like the thing to do.”

Jim shook his head, “It must be from living with Sherlock. Honestly!”

John smiled tiredly. “We never did anything. I know people thought we di–“

He was cut off as Jim put his hand behind John’s head and pulled him in for a kiss. It was passionate, and his toes curled in his shoes, and it felt like someone lit a fuse somewhere in his spine, and this was such a very very bad idea, and this was the most dangerous man in London–

John thought, _To hell with it,_ and kissed him back.  He was fairly certain he tasted blood when they broke apart– and he honestly couldn’t say who bit who–but he was standing there blinking at Jim, who was grinning and his eyes crinkled up and he looked….

_He looked like fun._

He didn’t look like the untouchable man in a suit from the trial, or the lunatic with the bombs– just for a moment, he looked like someone you might go out and enjoy a night with….

John shook his head. “What the hell am I thinking?” he muttered.

“I dunno, Johnny boy… but you should think it more often!”  Jim winked and handed him a card, and some cash. “Go settle things. If you want to try that again? Call me. Like I said, you kind of grew on me. Come on, Sebie.”

John stood there blinking as they walked away.  Eventually he put the card in his pocket, then went down and hailed a cab.

“Where to?”

“221B Baker Street,” John said. Sherlock would be there, and they REALLY needed to talk.

**Author's Note:**

> honestly i was trying to write something completely different and... well this happened.  
> i may pick it up and continue it, i may not. comment if you have an opinion... ok.. it's continuing. It's reallly weird and John is stubborny gong his own way, dont blame me


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